


things like this just don't happen

by pmonkey816



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmonkey816/pseuds/pmonkey816
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke accidentally sends a bathtub selfie to a stranger, and gets more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> from the kmeme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=49472117#t49472117

Merrill was still stammering on about something, but Hawke had stopped listening a long time ago. Because in had swaggered Fenris, beautiful tattoos and beautiful lean muscle and beautiful stupid fucking face and he hadn't so much as looked in her direction since she'd waved at him and he'd snubbed her with a quick glance off to the side. He'd had as good a time as her, that much she'd been able to tell. You just can't fake that kind of chemistry. But there he was, flirting with the new intern who was falling all over herself to compliment him. On to the next conquest. Asshole.

 

“So, what do you think?” Hawke was pulled from her thoughts by Merrill's lyrical lilt, turning to those big, bright eyes staring at her with unreserved adoration. Shit.

 

“Um, yeah.” Hawke said with a quick nod and a smile. “Totally.”

 

Merrill frowned, her brow crinkling in that adorable way of hers. “You weren't listening to me, were you?” She looked to the ground and scratched at her forehead. “Why does that keep happening?”

 

“Don't take it personally, Daisy.” Varric swooped in behind them, setting a tray full of coffees on the table. “Hawke's just caught up mooning over Broody.”

 

Merrill's eyes went almost comically wide. “You and Fenris? But why? He's so... mean. And spiky. I would think having sex with him would hurt. Did it hurt?”

 

Hawke chuckled, resisting the urge to reach out and ruffle Merrill's hair the way she'd always done with Carver when he was young. “He took the spikes off before we got to the tender bits, thankfully.” She quipped back, venturing another glance over at him.

 

“Who would've thought brooding was transmitted sexually?” Varric laughed, voice starting to get louder the way it did when he thought his own joke was particularly funny. “Too bad, really, half the women who work here have caught it. Someone call the CDC!”

 

Merrill's brow twisted and she scuffed a bare foot along the ground. “I think I'm lost. What would the CDC have to do with brooding? And why would you be able to catch it from another person?”

 

“Tell ya later, Daisy.” Varric replied. “Go set up in the booth, I want to re-record your vocals on that last track.” Merrill nodded and bounded off to find her guitar, leaving Hawke and Varric alone on the other side of the glass. He turned to her, raising a hand palm-up. “In all honesty, Hawke—and I don't say this lightly—Broody's a great guy and all, but you could do better.”

 

“I know, but you're taken.” She turned to look longingly at the vast machine next to them. “Bianca's the only one for you.” She sighed wistfully, flutering her eyelashes.

 

“Damn right.” He shot back with a grin, running a gentle hand over the knobs on the mixing board. “My one true love.” He turned back to Hawke, expression turning serious. “But really. I have some great friends. Some incredibly attractive friends, even. Come to the show tonight, I'll introduce you.”

 

Hawke shook her head. “No, I have a date tonight.”

 

Varric raised an eyebrow. “You have a date and I haven't heard about it? Unlikely.”

 

“Yes, well. It's all very hush-hush, you understand.” She leaned in conspiratorally, glancing around to be sure no one was listening before finishing, “it's with my bathtub and my right hand. But you can't tell anyone, or my left one will get jealous.” She sighed and shook her head. “We tried a few times, but it's just so uncoordinated. No skill at all.”

 

Varric laughed, that hearty belly laugh that had endeared Hawke to him from the start. “Well, if you decide you want some company that'll actually talk back, you let me know.” He fished a pen and paper out of his bag, jotted something down and handed it over to her.

 

“Your number?” Hawke swatted at Varric's arm affectionately. “Why, Varric, you tease.”

 

He shrugged, smirking indelibly. “It's the chest hair. No one can resist.”

 

 

By the time she got home from helping set up the lights and the sound for the show that night, Hawke was exhausted. She'd missed dinner, though her mother had left her a nice package in the fridge that she'd been too hungry to even microwave before eating. Now, it was time to treat herself. She started the water, poured in the bubble gel, put on some music (Merrill's most recent album. As naïve as she could be, the woman had talent, and the folksy guitar plucking and crooning was exactly what she needed right now) and pulled her clothes off before settling in and letting herself relax. She could practically feel the tight knot of tension in her shoulders start to release and uncoil its death grip around itself with each passing second, and she let out a little sigh of contentment.

  
Once she felt loose enough, she let her mind wander. Then her hands. She let them follow the pattern of phantom touches on her body, remnants of nights she'd spent with others. A faceless amalgamation of all the best lovers from her past. She teased around a nipple, tracing the areola but not the tip, the muscles in her legs tightening in anticipation. She slipped her hand down, grazing over it finally (finally), just as her cell phone buzzed on the table next to her.

 

She jumped, covering herself with her arms as if someone had barged into the room and caught her red-handed. She swallowed and looked around, reorienting herself to her surroundings, then frowned when she'd realized what had happened. No, she wasn't doing cell phones tonight. Tonight was about her and herself only. Her pleasure. She damn well deserved it. She went back to palming her own breast, only now the hand was no phantom. Because what if it was Fenris?

  
Shit.

 

She leaned over, wiping her hand on a nearby towel before picking up her phone. It was a snapchat from Varric, leant back against the bar with a scowling Anders and a grinning Merrill. _Who needs hands when you could be in the middle of this?_ The timer ran out and switched to a second picture of the three of them. _Oh, and Anders and Merrill, too._

 

She laughed and rolled her eyes. He was technically her boss, but they'd slowly grown into friends. He was the best one she'd had in a long time. And, yeah, okay. Maybe she missed him. MAYBE she kinda sorta wished she was there with them. She held the phone up above her, making sure the tops of her breasts were showing from outside the bubbles (but not too much. There was a line, after all), and shot him her best sultry smirk. She sent a text to the number he'd given her that day.

 

_Or you could be in the middle of this. Figured I'd send it to you through text so you could keep it on those long nights where mixing boards just aren't enough._

 

She laid the phone back down, still laughing to herself, trying to imagine what her friends' reactions would be.

 

Merrill would probably light up with a smile like sunshine and say something sweet like “oh, Hawke looks like she's having a lovely time!”

 

Anders would probably blush a deep red, look away from the picture and mumble something entirely incoherent.

  
And Varric would laugh, and keep the picture to show everyone (along with an entirely fabricated story of how he'd gone about acquiring it).

 

She definitely wasn't expecting the response she got. It was a picture of the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen in her life, all dark hair and bright golden eyes (so bright she could tell despite the darkness of her surroundings), and low cut shirt that showed off a magnificent pair of tits. The dark, shapely hair above her eyebrow curved in a perfect arch above one eye, lips quirked into the sort of seductive smirk that even Hawke's most mischievous of smiles cold only hope to imitate.

 

_Tonight just happens to be that sort of night, sweet thing. Say the word and I'll be in the middle of whatever you want._

 

Her heart raged in her chest, rapid and staccato, and Hawke had to put her phone down for a second so she didn't drop it straight into the water. She was glad no one could see her right then, because she knew she was flushed in heat from head to toe, even without the steaming water around her. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and scratchy, then picked the phone up again.

  
 _Well. This is awkward. Must have typed my friend's number in wrong._ _Sorry about that._

 

She sent the text back and sunk down beneath the water level, trying to shake the sudden combination of embarrassment and overwhelming desire that had consumed her at the sight of the picture. It would be wrong, right? To touch herself and think of that stranger, of the strong arms and soft curves and seriously, those breasts. She imagined what it would feel like to hold the weight of them in her hands, what her nipples would feel like in her mouth. Wondered what her voice sounded like, how she moaned, if she'd be rough.

 

She pushed her head out of the water, gasping in a deep breath. No. Stranger. Complete stranger. Don't be creepy. She glanced over to her phone, which was flashing an irritated blue light at her.

 

_That's a shame. It's not every day a beautiful stranger sends you dirty photos. Does that mean I don't get any more?_

 

She was... still flirting with her. She raised an eyebrow. Well, that's interesting. She snapped another photo, this time biting coyly at her lip.

 

_I find it hard to believe you don't have beautiful women falling all over themselves to send you dirty photos. But I guess I could send you one more, just because you asked so nicely._

 

She shut her eyes and tried to even out her breathing. This was most definitely not happening. There was no way this was happening. Things like this just didn't happen. Another buzz.

 

Another photo. This time, leaned forward against the bar, the flashing lights of the nightclub frozen in place behind her, eyes sparkling and smile wide and predatory, and cleavage pressed together and oh-so-obviously on display it was almost ridiculous. Or, would have been if she weren't so breathtaking. Hawke traced the dips of her collarbone with her eyes, groaning with appreciation.

 

_Mmm. Beautiful women, but not beautiful strangers. There's a difference. So, are you gonna tell me what I have to do to get an invitation to join you or do I just have to fantasize about you for the rest of the night?_

 

Hawke raised her eyebrows, chuckling at her forwardness (and okay, yeah, more turned on than should be possible from texting at the thought of that woman touching herself while thinking about her).

 

_You don't even know my name._

 

_Do I need to?_

 

She rolled her eyes.

 

_How about we start with coffee?_

 

_Make it a drink and make it tonight and you have yourself a deal._

 

Hawke worried at her bottom lip as she mulled it over, glancing around the room with its lit scented candles, the soft music in the background. All to get over a one night stand. She was losing her touch, damn it. She was the conqueror, not the conquest.

 

_Where are you?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick aside, I decided to set this story in modern times, but the Thedas equivalent of modern times. For whatever reason, the idea of letting the two worlds run parallel and incorporating aspects of both into the story seemed like fun. How do magic and science coexist? How have politics between Dwarves and those who live on the surface changed (if at all?) What are the Elves up to? Let's find out!

Hawke shoved her hands in her pockets, scrunching her shoulders in a useless attempt to keep out the cold, whipping winds. Even with her jacket she was still cold, could still feel the wind licking at her skin like she was naked. She was feeling unsatisfied in general, if she were being honest. That night last week had been so promising, full with the anticipation of a new lover. But that had quickly derailed with her answer.

 

She was at the Blooming Rose.

 

The _sex club._

 

Who even did things like that?

 

So, okay. Maybe she'd been inside a few times to help Varric out with promotion  and the staff was sort of nice , and yeah, fine, a few of her friends went there on occasion. But  _still._ It was in Hightown and Hawke's shitty little apartment was in Lowtown, and the buses just didn't run late enough for her to risk getting stranded. She didn't know anything about the woman who'd texted her except  she was beautiful and bawdy as all hell and  _damnit_ , she was the subject of all of Hawke's fantasies lately. Well, at least she wasn't stuck on Fenris anymore.

 

Bethany nudged her shoulder into Hawke's, drawing her attention back to the present, a soft smile set on her pretty face. Pretty in that innocent sort of way that Hawke couldn't remember ever being. Her eyes were harder now, though, clear hazel-brown marred by death and loss.

  
“Are you still worried about Mom?” She asked softly, bristling as another strung gust of cold wind passed over them and easily through their tattered, hand-me-down jackets.

 

Hawke's lips pressed into a thin line, chill coming now from the inside instead of out, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “She'll be fine.”

 

Bethany looked away, down to the ground in front of them, letting the moment settle into a tense silence for a few moments before responding, “I know what you're thinking. It's not your fault.”

 

Hawke's teeth ground together, her jaw aching and tense from the many sleepless nights the past two years. The nightmares still haunted her, Carver bursting into the house in the middle of the night, shouting, telling them all to pack.

 

She should've just listened, should've just taken his word for it. If she had, maybe he'd be here with them, trudging through the cold streets of Kirkwall and complaining. Always complaining, always trying to prove himself  _more_ . More capable, stronger, tougher than he really was. And it had gotten him killed. Stupid boy. She was supposed to protect him, should have protected him, but she was too busy scraping together enough cash to keep them in their home, well-fed and clothed. Too busy spending her free time drinking and chasing anyone who would take  her to their bed for the evening, just to chase away the sadness, to stay two steps ahead of it, to keep moving forward without their father.

 

She laughed, suppressing the urge to argue, and instead saying, “I know.”

 

She pushed open the door to The Hanged Man, holding it open for Bethany to follow in, warmth from the heaters instantly bringing feeling back into her extremities. She shook off the cold and slipped her jacket off, tossing it onto one of the barstools nearby.

 

“Hawke!” Varric bellowed from the stage, hopping down off it to stride toward the two of them. “And Sunshine, too? It's my lucky day.” He grinned and wrapped an arm around each of their waists, guiding them in toward the studio space in the back. “Blondie's not here yet, so you can relax for a minute. There's coffee in the pot.”

 

Bethany smiled gratefully and shot a questioning look at Hawke, who nodded. She walked over to the pot to fix them a couple coffees—hers loaded with cream and sugar, and Hawke's black, as always. Hawke settled onto the couch, resting her forehead in her hands, and Varric dropped down next to her, kicking his feet up onto the small table in front of them.

 

“Is it Leandra?” He asked under his breath, quietly enough that Bethany wouldn't hear him.

 

Hawke just shook her head slightly—an easy lie, because no, it wasn't the entire reason for her sour mood this past week.

 

Varric cocked an eyebrow. “You sure? Wanna talk about it?”

 

Hawke sighed, forcing a smirk to her lips before dropping her hands and turning to look at him. “And ruin your reputation as the paragon of masculinity? Never.”

 

He shrugged, leaning back and stretching his arms across the back of the sofa. “That's the nice thing about being a dwarf, kid. Nobody ever questions your manhood.”

 

“But Varric, what would people say if they knew you were such a mother hen?” She tsked at him affectionately, shaking her head. “Everyone would come to you for advice and tender affection, and I would never get laid again.”

 

Varric chuckled, shrugging one shoulder. “Well, Broody's got the market for 'stoic' cornered, I've gotta get in somewhere. You can't have caring  _and_ funny.”

 

Bethany joined them, handing a mug off to Hawke before settling in, warming her hands around the cup of steaming coffee. “What are you talking about?” She asked, taking a sip of her coffee only to frown at how hot it was.

 

“Nothing important, Sunshine.” Varric waved off the question with a swipe of his hand. “Excited for your first show tonight?”

 

Bethany perked up, smile widening her cheeks, and Hawke hadn't realized until that moment just how much she'd missed seeing it. “Oh! Yeah!” She was practically bouncing in her seat. “Although, I am a bit nervous. I've never played for an audience this big before.” Her smile turned sheepish when she looked at her sister from the corner of her eye. “I'm glad Marian will be there.” She mumbled into the rim of her mug.

 

Hawke couldn't help but smile, just a little. There were few things in the world that could make her heart swell quite like her sister's unconditional love for her. It was one of the few times she felt it, anymore. Her mother could barely handle leaving her bed (well, her futon. Living in a one bedroom apartment with three other people meant they couldn't  _all_ have real beds), much less  take care of either of her daughters.

 

She started a list in her mind: Bethany's smile, Varric's laughter, making music. Surely, there was more?

 

She opened her mouth to reply, but the door slamming open disrupted her thoughts, and all eyes turned to the blonde man who stood panting in the doorway, slinging his messenger bag down onto the floor before collapsing next to them on the couch. It was a tight fit, but they made it.

 

“Sorry I'm late.” Anders huffed, still gasping down breaths. “The meeting went later than I expected. Which is _good_ , of course.” He added, smiling shyly at the three of them. “I'm glad there's so much enthusiasm for ethical testing and treatment of people with magic.”

 

Hawke felt Bethany stiffen next to her, and she dropped a hand to her thigh, squeezing it lightly without even needing to look over at her. She felt her sister relax into her side at the touch.  _I'll protect you. No matter what, no one will ever take you. No one will ever hurt you_ .

 

“I'm glad, too.” Hawke muttered disinterestedly, wanting to derail the conversation from magic. She wasn't blind, she saw the way Anders looked at her sister like she was another recruit to his cause. She couldn't let that happen, she _wouldn't_. She stood abruptly, turning to cock an eyebrow at the three of them. “Are you ready to set up?”

 

“In a minute, Hawke.” Varric chuckled warmly. “Most of the crew is here, but I had a friend in need of some cash, so I told her she could run the sound. She should be here soon.”

 

Her teeth were grinding again, she noted with a hint of distaste. She blew out a sigh. “We can at least start setting up our equipment.” She said to Anders, motioning for him to follow. “C'mon.”

 

They worked quietly, Hawke setting up her keyboard and Anders his MIDI controller. She could feel him stealing glances at her the entire time, and she worked hard to keep her eyes focused on the task at hand. There really wasn't a lot to do without a sound tech, but she really, really didn't want to chat right now.

 

“What's your problem today?” Apparently, Anders had other ideas about the whole “not talking” thing.

 

Hawke sighed, resting her forearms on her knees and looking up at him from where she was squatting. “What are you talking about, Anders?”

 

“I'm talking about this whole...” He waved a hand at her, “aloof thing. We're friends, aren't we?”

 

Hawke bit the insides of her cheeks and looked down to the cable she held in her hands. “Of course we are.” She shut her eyes and took in a deep breath. “I just—“ She shook her head and looked back up at him, fighting back a sudden onslaught of tears that burned in her sinuses. “Leave Bethany out of all that magic stuff, okay?”

 

Anders stared back down at her, fire flashing in his tired eyes. “Am I the maker?” He scoffed. “I didn't give her magic, I'm not responsible for her being in this. I'm trying to  _help_ people like her. Like us.”

 

Hawke swallowed thickly, her nostrils flaring. “I know. Trust me, I know. And you also know I support you, but not everyone can be a crusader.”

 

“Not everyone has the choice to sit on the sidelines.” He bit back sharply, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Anders...” She closed her eyes against the tears, against the wave of panic threatening to consume her. She wasn't sure if she was more likely to vomit, cry, or punch something at the moment, but none of them seemed like a particularly charming option. “She's all I have left.”

 

When she opened her eyes, he'd softened a bit, out of his self-righteousness and back into his normal self. He nodded wearily, coming to kneel on the ground next to her. “I swear I'm not trying to recruit her, Hawke.” He said softly, meeting her eyes, her sadness reflecting in his own. “But if she joins of her own volition—well, that's her decision.”

 

Hawke shook her head. “I won't let her.” She looked away, over to the wall behind the stage, trying to hide her own desperation. She was strong, she didn't lose it like this.  _Damn it, Anders, you sensitive, caring bastard._

 

He cupped her cheek, turning her face back to look at him. “You can't control everything, you know. Some things are just...” His eyes glanced down to her lips then back up to her eyes, and he moistened his lips with his tongue. “Out of our hands.”

 

“Ooh.” A voice broke the moment, and they both snapped their attention to the doorway, where a woman strode in with a sexy, confident swagger of her hips and a broad smirk playing on her lips. “Looks like I got here right on time.” She came to a halt at the foot of the stage, and she leaned her forearms onto it, showing off some awfully-familiar cleavage.

 

“Isabela.” Hawke wasn't looking at him, but she could _feel_ the roll of  Anders' eyes as he said her name.

 

Hawke wasn't entirely sure how anyone could be unhappy to see such a breathtaking woman. In all honesty, she would've expected her to be less captivating in person than in her photos, but every inch of her screamed sex, with just a hint of danger. Her hair, tied up in a blue bandana, the old  white band T-shirt with the  sleeves and collar  torn out and a line cut down the center to show off her cleavage, and those  _pants—_ tight and leather and  _Maker_ , did Hawke want to rip them off her right then and there.

 

“Anders. Always a pleasure.” She cocked her head sideways, a joke sparkling in her eyes. “Still sober?”

 

“Of course.” He ground out through his teeth, his fists clenched at his sides.

 

She tutted, shaking her head slightly. “What a shame. You used to be so much  _fun_ .”

 

Anders was wound so tight, Hawke was fairly certain he was about to implode from the force, but instead he just stood there for a few moments, red-faced and shaking, before turning and storming off to the studio space.

 

“Come now,” Hawke laughed, and Isabela turned her head to take her in, eyes flickering over her body. “That's just mean, to wind him up like that.”

 

Isabela pulled herself up onto the stage, hypnotizing Hawke with the bulge of dormant muscles beneath soft curves, then sauntered toward her. Hawke stood to meet her, hands instinctively rising up to grasp her hips when she kept moving into her space, pressing their bodies together and leaning to whisper in her ear.

 

“But teasing is so pleasurable, don't you think?” One hand began to play with her hair where it ended at the base of her skull.

 

Hawke shuddered, grinning genuinely for the first time in a week. “Mmm. Something tells me you're good at it, too.”

 

“Oh, you have no idea, sweet thing.” Isabela leaned back to look her in the eye and yep, those eyes were even more gorgeous in person, playful and bright and mischievous. “You're not so bad at it, either. I think I like you better naked, though.” She ran her hand down the side of Hawke's neck, stroking at her collarbone where her button-up parted and bared it. “All this beautiful flesh hidden away from prying eyes.”

 

“Rivaini!” Varric's voice boomed and echoed in the tight space of the bar, and Isabela stepped back from Hawke to turn and greet him. “A pleasure to see you, as always.” He climbed the steps to the stairs, bowing and taking her hand to kiss the back of it gently.

 

“Always a charmer, aren't we, Varric?” She responded with a chuckle, graciously offering her hand when he'd moved to grasp it.

 

“Only for you.” He winked. “I see you've met Hawke.” He nodded toward her with his chin, then turned to Isabela with a growing grin. “Just one minute to seduce her. Must be some sort of record.”

 

She shrugged nonchalantly, pretending to study her shortly-cropped fingernails. “It's what I do.”

 

“Well, good.” He walked over to her, clapping a hand on her back. “She could use a good lay. Now let's set up.” He wandered off to gather equipment, and Hawke narrowed her eyes at him, pieces slowly beginning to fall into place.

 

_Varric, I don't know whether to curse you or kiss you_ . The thought was disrupted by Isabela pressing into her back, hands settling onto her hips and crotch pressing into her ass. “Don't worry, sweet thing. We'll finish what we started later.” A finger slipped up under the tails of her shirt to skirt along her hipbones where they pressed out from her skin. A rush of heat and pleasure surged to a point where that calloused finger scraped, and she pressed back harder against Isabela's body, grinding involuntarily into her. “Teasing is fun, but the follow-through is so much more.... satisfying, don't you think?” And then she was gone, off to help Varric lug cables across the stage.

 

_Kiss you. Definitely kiss you._ She thought, bounding off to help.


End file.
